


Catalyst

by TheWordHawk



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Coffee, Crimes & Criminals, Dubious Morality, Dystopia, Far Future, Gen, Non-Sexual Slavery, Police, Science Fiction, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordHawk/pseuds/TheWordHawk
Summary: A lonely informant gets an amnesiac boy as a servant, as a part of a peculiar deal. A gang of to-be Imperial policemen witness their mentor murdered by a mysterious force. A prince of an indigenous alien race struggles to make ends meet in a society whose rules he can't quite comprehend.And a disaster is set in motion by a depressed inventor. For everyone's greater good.
Relationships: Cops and Criminals - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Catalyst

_Abyss, Abyss, Abyss._

Even history textbooks couldn't pinpoint the moment when fuctionally vital openings in Ravenna's many levels and layers started being perceived as something bad. Let alone when it broke all the rankings, ramming up Ravenna's most used cuss word charts, surpassing even the titans of the past such as "hell". The Abysses weren't used for execution purposes, at least officially, there were no beasts in thegrounds below for people to tremble in fear. Let the conspiracy theorists believe whatever, Ravenna was just too young of a planet to be "soaked in blood of the innocent". The Abysses were nothing but light pipes. Literally a gulp of fresh air and a glimpse of blue skies for the levels below, naturally deprived of both.

Yet, knowing all that, Thyson couldn't help but chant this word in his mind.

_Abyss._

One «abyss» for every circle his teaspoon drew in a cup full of coffee. One «abyss» for every sip he took, abrupt to the point of being disrespectful.

He was so lost in though even the wasted aftertaste of the archaic drink couldn't steal his attention. Thyson completely forgot he came here to distract himself by his customary nag about how all those wannabe coffee shops do nothing but waste quality coffe beans.

Nothing could help him escape reality. His comm's screen was buzzing busy with tiny letters: a servant ownership contract. A fake one, to make matters worse. And if that wasn't enough, a fake contract already signed by yours truly, Thyson Fischer himself.

He never wanted to own a servant to begin with - the dubious nature of it, both in terms of morality and in terms of being legal at all, rubbed him the wrong way - he also considered himself, at thirty one years of age, too young commit to a long-term relationship with a prison cell. He was told again and again, three times straight to be exact: there's no way nobody would search for the boy. Not just that - there was almost no way he could remain hidden anywhere across the Human Empire, had he been sent there with a neurobrace familiar to the System. It turns out the informant's office didn't register as a part of the Human Empire in the sick mind who came up with the plan.

What does he think it is, a parallel universe? Thyson gritted his teeth. He could swear the bastard was laughing the whole time. He sat across the table, grayish from lack of sunlight and face devoid of emotions, yet his eyes sparkled yellow as lively as ever. And while Thyson was getting busy with the contract, the bastard was munching on sugar directly from the sugar bowl. Sugar cube after sugar cube went down his throat. Thyson's throat wasn't treated to much other than dry cliches. He felt thirsty after going through the whole thing several times. Thyson couldn't shake the feeling there was a nasty trick somewhere. It would be weird if there wasn't, considering who he was dealing with.

Thyson tried to bait him with a dismiss gesture at his comm, but that didn't faze him the slightest. Neither did him saying that the plan was bonkers and wouldn't work anyway. And then? The bastard chewed down on another sugar cube and plainly said: "Well, gotta go and kill the kid, then".

And with sugar scrunching, Thyson signed the darned thing.

…Would the boy also grow into loving sugar one day, though?

Thyson shook his head in an attempt to ward of the sentiment. He wasn't taking it seriously enough, he felt. What if the foolish boy gets out of the office somehow and the scanners detect him before his missing person case is suspended? The bastard never went into details on how much influence those who wouldcome after the boy had. If they launch face recognition search or something, Thyson is as doomed as the boy. The police will try their best to accuse him of as many things as they can. After all, Thyson knew they knew who was actually to blame for some... incidents. And he's gonna be lucky if the Empire will be generous enough to let him off with a bullet to his brain

He paid the check without even looking — he just waved his _braced_ hand next to the cashregi scanner. It injected a sequence of ones and zeros into his neurobrace, a new check in Thyson's transaction history, and the waitress got to enjoy Thyson's profile picture on her end, as well as his current workplace and position: «United Coffee, Ravenna branch, Sales Representative«.

It's hard but not impossible to hack into the neurobrace. All you need is a skilled technician and money. Thyson has access to both, and it was why he had no need to shy away from the System's scanners. Cash registers, roadside monitors, even police scanners - none of those could see past the masterful facade of hardwiring and code. Even if someone was to recognise him as Ravenna's informant, imperial tech would bust their accusations out the door. The worst crime he was ever accused of was speeding — but come on, nobody's perfect.

Thyson Fischer had every legal right to enter the elevator as he always paid his maintenance fees on time,so he did. It was a long trip, watching Ravenna's Middle Grounds grow smaller and smaller. He sighed deeply, another legal right of his - he never skipped air enrichment payments either.

The elevator slowed down. On floor fifty two, halfway to the pinnacle on the Centralion and the Upper Grounds border, a sales representative Thyson Fischer owned a small cosy office. No cheap purchase, grant you, but it was worth it. Even worth the fact he had to live at his workplace, being as loyal and devoted to his humble job as he was. A very typical occurence on Ravenna. And completely legal, as well.

However you look at him, he was an average law-abiding citizen. He couldn't afford not to be one. Thyson had a no-wrong-steps policy in place for himself, and that seemed to work, if him still being free and alive was anything to judge from.

And there were no wrong steps. Up to this day.

A delivery notice caught him off guard on the doorstep of office number ninety nine. Thyson stood there confused for a moment. A fifty kilo shipment of prime quality Gren coffee... Exept he didn't order any. Or should you better say, he was advised to cancel the order right after signing the…

Oh. That's why. «Accept».

He stayed right there, in front of his office door. A couple minutes later a suitcase-sized steel container hovered from the delivery chute to his feet. Those usually carry precious cargo… Or cargo the origins of which one would rather not disclose to the System.

«United Coffee»'s logo was plastered on the side in a hurry, — a coffe bean surrounded by lush green leaves.

…The poor child. This steel box was by no way meant to carry anything that needs oxygen.

Thyson pushed the box into the office and shut the door behind him. The door mat got all wrinkly and Thyson almost tripped on it, but the informant barely noticed. He checked if the office's System interruptors are all going, and then…

All four locks clicked open.

Thyson expected the sirtens to sound or the police to break his door down the very instant he did that, but nothing bad happened. The top cover came off easily, sliding sideways. Nothing bad happened, but only now did Thyson realise what he got himself into, and the fear of realisation crawled up his spine. He got himself a servant.

A boy was curled up uncomfortably inside the box. Thyson wasn't good at guessing children's age, but he figured the boy must be four years old at most. Freckles from the nose down to his fingers, ears peeking funnily from his short-cut hazel hair. Have Thyson met him on the street he would hardly notice any difference between him and any other street boys if it wasn't for the hospital gown speckled with dried up blood. Was it even his or someone else's? Who knows.

"Richard… Rick?" Thyson called and touched the boy's shoulder.

No response. The boy's head tilted to the side, revealing a small burnt mark behind his ear.

His memory had been wiped at least once.


End file.
